Amazingly, it’s 2025. A few months into this year will find me half-way through my eighties. And I didn’t get here alone. Even at this advanced age, some of my cherished friends entered the world the same year I did—too early to be baby boomers, but not by much.
When we began our journey, the road ahead of us was wide and seemingly endless. Some roads seemed straight ahead and obvious, while others veered off in one direction or another. Some were popular and beckoning. Others were winding and mysterious, with their own kind of appeal. Some roads were well lighted, others deep in shadow. Many contained potholes and barriers that needed to be dealt with. Some of us speak of difficult journeys; some admit to having it easy. Some went with the traffic, others against it. Some of us gladly left familiar behind, while others stuck around. Most of us were accompanied by companions—some for a little while, others for a very long time.
Now, in our eighty-fifth year, our roads are narrowing. We’ve been joined by people we care about—some related to us and some not. If we’re lucky, some of our friends are younger than we are, but some are our age. A few of us have loved ones who are infirm and need our help. Some of us need help ourselves. We’ve looked back at our individual journeys, and we’ve made peace with the choices we made. Some of those choices offered unexpected rewards, and memories of them bring smiles to our aging faces. Some we’ve come to accept as “not our best moments,” but we’re very far past blame and regret by now.
We’re aware that the vessel that brought us on our journey does not define us. The vessel is mostly still upright, and we’re grateful for that, but it’s not always at its best, and it doesn’t exactly jibe with our concept of ourselves. Some of our bodies seem to have been genetically destined and/or environmentally influenced to be in better working order than others. We compare notes on what still works and what doesn’t. For all of us, there are ailments, conditions, frailties, and sometimes injuries. Most of us are shocked, still, by mirrors. We make old-person noises and chide ourselves. We don’t hurry anymore. We fear falls, mostly because we’re not sure we’ll be able to get back up. Sadly, those fears are a reminder about that narrowing road.
But here’s the thing. We’re okay. Our core values are intact. We know ourselves to be fair-minded and compassionate toward others—all others. We know the difference between right and wrong. We know cruelty when we see it, as well as bombast, ugliness, and finger-pointing. We can tell the difference between the truth and lies. We know what we stand for and what we stand against. We’ve become who we are because of the people we encountered, the experiences we had, and the choices we made as we journeyed down our road.
The one that’s irrevocably narrowing.
Category: Uncategorized
Displaced, Part Three–New Insight
When Ed was in the hospital for a couple of nights recently, it was the first time in the past ten years that I’ve been at home alone. Seriously. I’m never here when he’s not here. I wasn’t interacting with someone—answering questions, asking them, or just generally being present to another person. And, I had a thought.
Well, lots of them. But one stood out.
I miss my girlfriends.
I miss going to lunch, laughing at our foibles, lamenting the current state of affairs, describing new shopping acquisitions, recommending a new book or TV show, complaining about newly discovered health issues, discussing relationships with loved ones, worrying about family members, talking about food we’ve eaten, weight we’ve gained or lost, and simply feeling understood.
Then there are projects. Handling them with my girlfriends is an entirely different experience. When I tackle a project with my husband, there’s always an element of something I never feel when I work with a girlfriend, whether it’s solving a puzzle, finding an address, gluing a broken object back together, reading directions, deciding whether to paint or replace, or finding the right light bulb.
With him, there’s always an element of competition involved (he grew up with a male sibling), and a need for some kind of hierarchy. “Who’s doing this—you or me?” Who’s the helper and who’s the doer. Who’s in charge. Who will be responsible if it isn’t right. Who will be blamed. (I’m an only child; there was no one else.)
With a girlfriend, we’re cooperating. We’re utilizing the strengths of both of us and laughter, always, is a part of the equation. If Charlene or Bobbi says, “You should have turned back there,” that statement out of her mouth is entirely different than it is from his.
With her, it’s comradery—cooperative play—a sense of being in an adventure together, a challenge met. The tone is, “Oops, we screwed up.” Emphasis on the “we.”
I miss that.
When we first moved here, I did try to make new friends. I attended a Meetup group for women over fifty. I ended up with a book group of five or so that lunched more than discussed the book, but that suited me fine. They were all interesting and open. It was fun. I met up with a couple of them individually at different times for lunch and had some intimate conversations that were fulfilling.
Covid happened, and we lost touch.
I went to the UU Fellowship a few Sundays ago but didn’t stick around for the coffee. The woman that checked in newcomers seemed like someone I would enjoy chatting with, but she didn’t stay for coffee either. It’s in Gainesville. Twenty miles. On Sundays. Getting myself up and dressed and driving a half hour seems to be more than I can handle right now.
Ed’s fine, by the way. Back home and with no lasting symptoms from Covid.
Everything is back to normal, not counting the ongoing construction in our bathroom. We’re putting in a new ADA approved vanity. But soon, that will be done and lovely, and I will still need to push myself to add some female perspective to my life.
Thanks for listening.
Pat Ponders Life 